


What a Privilege It Is to Love (You)

by aeyria



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Kisses, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Freckles, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeyria/pseuds/aeyria
Summary: "You're lucky I love you," Aziraphale says. And Crowley agrees.Just a really short scene / dialogue exchange in which Crowley marvels at his fortune while Aziraphale holds him and everything is soft.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	What a Privilege It Is to Love (You)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: To Have and to Hold
> 
> Title from "Two" by Sleeping at Last, which has some of the softest lyrics I've ever heard.
> 
> This idea broke into my house and held my brain hostage until I wrote it, so have 370 words of cuddles because someone in the Ace Omens discord mentioned Crowley making Aziraphale carry him. (They also requested I post this, though I probably won't expand upon it. Hope y'all like it anyway.)

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Aziraphale says it with a playful sigh, an obligingly put-upon roll of the eyes that is betrayed by the smile playing at his lips; but as the angel leans over and scoops him easily into the basket of his arms, Crowley can’t help but think how _true_ it is. 

Being held by Aziraphale is the feeling of flight; it’s giving himself over to something infinitely stronger than he could ever be, and letting it hold and carry him wherever it likes, reveling in the proximity of a sun he never thought reachable. He can feel the thrum of Aziraphale’s heart and the steady draw of breath in all the places they’re connected, the way his own body finds its way into the same rhythm, not for need, but for want. He wants the feeling of being surrounded and present and alive, of warm softness holding him still and secure because he knows nothing bad will happen. 

It’s the freedom of trust. The safety of _home_. 

“Yes,” he agrees, curling into the plush expanse of Aziraphale’s chest. He is so blessedly lucky.

Aziraphale settles them on the couch and pulls him closer, tucking him into the space beneath his chin as if this is Eden again and the rain falling against their cottage window is something new and frightening. This is how it could have gone. How it goes now, six thousand years later. There is rain, and a garden, and amidst it all, a demon finds shelter beneath the graces of an angel. His angel. 

Aziraphale holds him, and this time, there is no fear. There is no need to keep away, and Aziraphale uses their new arrangement to press gentle kisses into Crowley’s forehead as he leans into the touch. He’ll have a crown of umber stars to look forward to in the morning, a freckling of new constellations drawn by the brush of the angel’s lips, but for now, the only evidence is the lingering warmth as Aziraphale continues to search for space to sow new ones. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale tells him, softly and sincerely. “I love you, and I am the luckiest being in the world that you love me too.”


End file.
